


and love is but an ocean (unrealistic notion)

by metsuryuogi



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Engagement, F/M, Post-Canon, hoooooooh boy they are H word and it is getting difficult in here, snippets of their love letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metsuryuogi/pseuds/metsuryuogi
Summary: "During the day, I belong to worldly responsibilities; chores, work, all of my obligations. At night, I belong to my dreamland, to sleep. But here, at this moment in time, I belong to myself and well—to you."Anne and Gilbert spend some quality time in the last weeks before marriage.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 24
Kudos: 167





	and love is but an ocean (unrealistic notion)

**Author's Note:**

> Please take this fluff offering
> 
> Some things in this are modeled off of quotes from Anne of Windy Poplars, like the ones about Dusk! 
> 
> title from It Goes On and On by the Avett Brothers

Anne likes to imagine that she has an unspoken connection with Mother Nature. 

Mother Nature is simply a concept, a mother to all of those who inhabit the Earth. She hasn't been claimed by anyone, but she watches over every single soul in every season, in all climates, and her love spans across all lands. Anne never knew her own mother; she never knew the comfort of a mother's touch, or soothing voice to quell her worries. But Mother Nature has raised Anne in the best way she knows how; with warm moss as a restful blanket on the Earth's floor; with sturdy trees that one can always rely on; with bright yellow butterflies soaring through golden sun rays in the flowery meadows for company. 

If Mother Nature was Anne's to love and to cherish, then the whole world shall be her home, and no matter where she was, she'd always be welcome somewhere. 

Though, she'd gladly settle for Avonlea on a radiant, August evening exploring all of her old special haunts. 

The book of her life was progressing onto its next chapter, and she had a feeling it would be her favorite chapter—turning the pages constantly in her mind until they're the most well-loved memories of all. She and Gilbert were to be married in only a couple of weeks, and then her dream of being a shining bride with a regal veil, and saccharine words spoken with worshipping, soft, voices as if they were the only ones there, would come true. Anne tried to picture the wedding in her mind over and over again, it was a daydream plot she has particularly mastered, but she could never get the _details_ quite right. 

Would his eyes mist with overwhelming emotion when she'd walk towards him with the white gown trailing on the ground behind her? 

What will it feel like when he slips the golden ring onto her finger, to join the one he gave her years ago; will it feel gentle and warm, or will the cold metal cool her flushed skin? 

What will the flowers smell like when they reach their brand new home, and will he carry her over the threshold? Or will they walk together as one? 

Her grand imagination was, for the first time, failing her completely. 

And of course, there was the matter of the swarms of Avonlea matrons who had spent the entire summer nagging Anne about her trousseau, about what fabric will she knit her first nightgown with, as well as chastising her for the decision to be wed outside instead of in church. Even Marilla was trying to give her more sensible advice. 

Mrs. Lynde lent her opinions on the matter quite frequently, to no ones surprise, saying various passive-aggressive comments such as, _"the weather won't hold you know, the more you wish for a sunny day the more likely you'll get a torrential downpour, that's what,"_ and even more aggressive comments like, _"Anne, don't you think it is a bit heretical to not get married inside of the Church? I only mean— what would Gilbert say?"_ Anne would bite her tongue to the best of her ability, but would later have a full laugh about it as she spilled the details in a letter to Gilbert, as he had yet to return to Avonlea due to his last examinations and securing his medical license. 

_"She believes me a heretic for not getting married inside of the Church! As if I haven't gone to the same Sunday services as she has during my entire time in Avonlea! I mean honestly, Gilbert, she thinks us getting married in the Orchard will bring another Ten Plagues to wreak havoc on the entire Island. The worst part of all, dearest, is that she insisted that you should put your foot down and tell me 'no;' as she assumes once we get married that you'll 'reel me in' from all of my romantic notions. Oh, Gilbert, please tell me we'll never grow out of our romanticism. I want to be old and gray and still look to you as I do now, I want to hold you close to my heart forever and always and let it feel like the first time."_

_"If wanting to get married outside in the Orchard makes you a heretic, then let Mrs. Lynde know that I shall be counted as one too because quite frankly, Anne-girl, I would marry you in the barn, I would marry you in the freezing cold, or the burning heat. The only requirement I need to follow is that you and I are there together. You can also tell Mrs. Lynde that I couldn't 'reel' you in even if I wanted to, but I would not even dare try, because it's your free and untamed spirit that made me fall in love with you. Please, don't ever be the sort of wife that becomes my echo, your voice is something that I desperately need, always._

_And don't pay attention to anyone who says marriage will cure our romanticism; I aim to always kiss you with just as much feeling as the first time."_

Out of frustration, Anne picks up the nearest object she can find, a rock about the size of her palm, and throws it beyond where her eyes can see it. 

"I'll sew my nightgown with lace if I _want_ to, Marilla!" she cries out to no one in particular, letting the words tumble out of her mouth towards the orange and pink sky. 

An exaggerated whistle blows behind her, and she turns around quickly–– embarrassed by her sudden outburst-- but once she sees Gilbert standing there, holding in a laugh, she squeals with girlish delight and runs towards him only to stop in her place abruptly when she remembers what his being there must mean. 

"And just who am I addressing today? Mr. or Dr. Blythe?" she says, a curious glint in her eyes. 

Gilbert was always very tight-lipped about his examinations because, surprisingly, he was quite superstitious. A couple of weeks ago, Anne had sent him an early graduation gift—stationary with _Dr. Gilbert John Blythe,_ printed across the pages—and he had written back: " _as much as I adore this gift, Anne, and thank you very much, I am not a doctor yet! I cannot get overconfident before I've even taken a single exam."_

"For you? Just Gilbert, always," his smile is reserved, and he sticks his hands into his pockets, "though I suppose if one wanted to stick to formalities then Dr. Blythe would suit." 

Anne releases a shaky breath, and her feet are back to revving towards him, but in all the excitement she trips on a root and tumbles onto the ground in front of him. 

Gilbert kneels down at her side in a second with his eyes roving over her, worryingly scanning for cuts or scrapes. His calloused fingers wrap around her small wrist, while the other hand brushes off stray grass from her shoulders. The delicate touch lingers there for a moment, not so much playing doctor anymore as he was simply desperate to be close to her. 

“Admittedly, I did want to surprise you, but you hurting yourself was not apart of the plan— are you alright?” He asks as he lifts her to sit up, noses touching briefly while she catches her balance. 

"I'm fine, you worrywart," she laughs, snaking her arms across his neck and pulling him closer into a hug so that she can smell the soap that is so familiar to her now, the same soap she can smell in her dreams, "I'm so proud of you." 

"I couldn't have done it without you," he confesses, pulling back to tenderly brush the back of his knuckles across her cheek. 

"How so?" she blurts, a smile playing at her lips, as she drags her hands down to hold his own. 

He was so endearing like this, with his legs crossed in front of him, sitting on the forest floor next to her despite being in his best suit—she could spot a couple of places where it needed mending— and his hair was practically crying out for a haircut, but he was _there;_ he was there with his eyes crinkled and mouth curved into a bright smile, and she’d have to squint to see the total remnants of boyhood, but she supposed he could say the same about her and how she’s grown. If she hadn’t known better she’d think the girl with the tattered plain dress, double red-headed plaits, and short temper, and the boy with the unruly hair, and taunting eyes, who just wanted an ounce of her attention no longer existed. 

"Getting to marry you was a powerful motivator to complete my courses as soon as possible," he says, and his impish grin holds so many of the same visions she's had in the last three years. 

"Don't let Rachel and Marilla hear you," she jokingly warns, "they still have yet to recover from finding out that you kiss me in 'most unsuitable places'" 

"You'll have to remind me of what constitutes as 'most unsuitable,'" he whispers, "I seem to have forgotten." 

When she lifts her eyes to meet his, they're closer than they were before, and the setting sun does little to lighten the darkness that's clouding his eyes. Anne thought that after years of being together with him, she would be able to stall the erratic beats of her heart that pulse in her ears— that she could cool herself down enough to stop her palms from getting clammy, but he still has the same effect that he did that September day outside of Blackmore House. 

"The nape of the neck, for example, is most unsuitable," she says coquettishly, sighing as he presses soft, feathery like kisses from the base of her neck to the angle of her jaw, and over her pulse point. He slows down with his nose pressed to the sensitive skin below her ear, and takes a deep breath as if to take in her entire essence, and meets her eyes once again, only to then flicker down to her lips. The air around them is intoxicating, filling with a pressure that's been building since the last time she saw him in spring. When his lips meet hers with an urgency he doesn't usually possess, she senses it traveling through her veins, a sensation that makes her head dizzy, and her knees feel like lead. The hand that combs through her hair is gentle, yet the other hand that grasps her waist was firm, locking her safely in his embrace, as her own hands reach to cup his cheeks in her hands. 

Then, she remembers his last letter and pulls away from him swiftly, giggling briefly at the bewildered expression he wears with kiss-abused lips. 

"You said you would be here tomorrow night," she recalls, hand slipping from his cheek and against his chest, "why are you early?" 

“I heroically demanded more time off to see you, of course,” Gilbert says with a conspicuous grin, and at her quirked brow he adds, “after your last letter when you said how much you _missed_ me,” he dawdles, drawing out the syllables slightly, “I may have stayed up all night a couple of times so I could cram my exams into one day.” 

“ _Gilbert!"_ She whispers harshly, _"_ you know I would much rather wait for a more well-rested-you than to have you sleep-deprived,” she scolds, brushing her fingers under his eyes as if to wipe away the already fading dark circles

"I caught up on my sleep on the train." 

"And what if you missed your stop?" 

"Oh, _Anne_ , aren't you glad to see me— even a little bit?" 

His hands pull on hers, bringing them to his lips where he grazes them lightly, stopping to hover over her engagement ring. 

_"Every time I see that ring on you, my mother's ring, I know that you are my family, you are my home, and you will be for the rest of my life,"_ He had written to her last November, _"what an honor it is to be your family, to be your home."_

The queenish look on her face relaxes, and her lopsided grin gives away the humor trickling from her voice, "only a little; a tiny, minuscule, microscopic, eensy-weensy amount." 

His eyebrows quirk upwards, " _oh_? Someone's been looking through a thesaurus rather obsessively." 

"Gil, all that medical gibberish is rotting your brain— I mean, who would need to search through a thesaurus for those synonyms? Really, they should be ready and on hand at all times." 

He laughs, the kind where it reaches his eyes and he lets his head roll backward, her favorite laugh, and the dusky sky colors his skin perfectly, so enticingly, golden, and rose. 

He lays down in the grass, one arm behind his head, the other by his side, and legs folded at the knee. She joins him, wrapping her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder. They stare at the sky in silence, and there's no one she'd rather share this beautiful scene with than Gilbert, who understood her attachment to nature more than anyone. 

"I love dusk," she whispers, afraid to disturb the tranquility. He turns his head to her, wonder in his eyes, but remains quiet.

"During the day, I belong to worldly responsibilities; chores, work, all of my obligations. At night, I belong to my dreamland, to sleep. But here, at this moment in time, I belong to myself and well— to _you_." 

He bites a smile back with his teeth like he still can't quite believe that they're here; speaking to each other in this way, just weeks before their wedding. It was the unfettered joy he displays that assures her this was right— _he_ was right. 

"I think I belong to you always," he replies, voice slightly cracked with emotion. 

"You're such a flirt, Gilbert," she beams, "I am certain there are moments of the day, perhaps when you're examining a patient, where your mind wanders away from silly ol' me." 

"On the contrary, Annest of all Annes," he says, face set seriously, with that bold, humorous shine in his eye, "I passed all of my Anatomy courses with flying colors because I'd simply think of you." 

She stares back at him, scoffing at his joke, a blush scattering across her pale face, before his hand caresses down her arm lightly to fold her fingers one by one, "your phalanges, I cherish fondly from every time we've danced." He then slips his hands up to her shoulders, tugging softly at the sleeves there, "your scapulae, I held onto when you hugged me as I cried for Mary," his lips press a quick kiss to her jaw, as he holds her chin with delicate fingers, "your mandible reminds me of every argument we've ever had, and every kiss we've shared." 

"Cheeky," she laughs, leaning on her arms for balance as his fingers tread down her torso. 

"I felt your ribs when we kissed the first time, and I remember thinking how I should consider you fragile—in my arms like that— how I shouldn't have grabbed you so tight, but I could feel your heartbeat pressed against mine and it was so steady, so _strong,_ thatI knew I could never consider you fragile; you're an incredible force, Anne." 

He continues staring at her, before inhaling and turning his attention back to the setting sun. 

"If we weren't already engaged to be married in a few weeks I would propose to you myself after such a speech, Gilbert," Anne says, her words taunting but the tone anything but. Anne wraps her hand around his left ring finger as if she has something to offer, but to him, her promise means everything, more than any material, tangible object could. 

The moon creeps out into the darkening sky as they remain laying there, the sounds of frogs and cicadas a symphony that surrounds them. 

_"When I look up at the moon, it brings comfort knowing the same moon is above you; that she lights your nights just as she lights mine. It makes me feel as though we are not so far away, you and me. We will meet again,"_ she wrote one particularly lonely night during her time at Queen's. 

"Alright," he says, pushing himself up onto his feet and dusting off his pants, then reaches his arm towards her to grab, "Marilla will have my head if you're not back by supper." 

" _Oh_ ," she groans, accepting his hand and stomping towards the path, "can't we just tell her we're practically married and we can go out on adventures whenever we like?" 

"I think in Marilla's eyes there's a big difference between married and _practically_ married." 

She glares back at him, hands on her hips, "semantics." 

His hand is swinging hers back and forth as they begin to walk, "it might be semantics, but I'd rather not get on Marilla's bad side." 

As they walk back hand-in-hand, she tells him of the dreadful sewing circles she has been forced to partake in with Mrs. Lynde, Mrs. Barry, and Marilla, as they sewed tirelessly over Anne's trousseau all summer. In turn, he tells her about his last week of exams, how he had fallen asleep in his bowl of oatmeal, and how he had accidentally walked into the wrong examination hall on one occasion. Anne realizes that she could have these inconsequential conversations with Gilbert her entire life. She wants to tell him about the unusual plants and bugs she finds, or the silly jokes she reads in periodicals. She wants him to tell her about the odd, gritty things that happen to him on his rounds, and the bizarre dreams he has when he wakes up in the morning. 

Anne wants to talk about all these things with him and she realizes all at once that this is what it means to be prepared to belong to someone, and for them to belong to you. 

All this time, she's wanted to belong to Mother Nature's wide expanse, but really, she wants to belong in Gilbert's atmosphere, orbiting him in a constant loop until she burns out. 

It isn't until they reach the edge of Green Gables that Anne speaks up again, leaning against the gate.

"Soon, we won't have to say goodbye anymore." 

The faded words on an aging paper cross her mind: _"saying goodbye to you is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."_

Gilbert steps forward, pushing her closer against the gate, as his hand lifts to brush uncooperative strands of hair behind her ear, and then leans down to kiss her. 

It's languid, slow, deliberate— she can tell he's still exhausted from his journey, but there's also something there; a fire that builds and builds in her stomach as he takes his time with her. 

"Twenty-four days but who's counting," he says, smug and only an inch from her face. 

"Foolish, Gilbert," she giggles, "I've been counting down the days since you proposed to me three years ago." 

"I hate to one-up you, but _I've_ been counting down since the day that I met you," he declares triumphantly. 

Anne scoffs, "not even you, oh-wise-one, have that much foresight." 

Gilbert shrugs innocently. 

"Perhaps it wasn't foresight but just hope." 

Her laughs die down as she takes in his words, and even when he's joking his intent and character demand to be seen by her, so she responds in the only way she knows how. 

"I love you," she repeats for the millionth time, because no amount of saying those three words can truly convey the feeling. 

"I love you too," he replies, kissing her cheek. 

To make this goodbye easier, she breaks out into a run towards the house, only turning around once to yell back at him: "bring a book tomorrow, and let's read together at Hester Gray's Garden!"

"Aye, aye!" he shouts back, turning on the tip of his toes to make his way back to his own home. 

Anne watches from the porch as he goes, dark hair and dark suit blending into the night air, and she thinks that twenty-four days until his home is with her cannot come soon enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hoPE you all like it, and as always I appreciate your thoughts and comments! 
> 
> twitter: gilbertjpeg  
> tumblr: natsujpg


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